


welcome to the inner workings of my mind

by insomniabug



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: Gen, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniabug/pseuds/insomniabug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For years she's had to prepare for the day she would have to pull the trigger, but nothing could ever prepare her for the reality of it. It didn't matter if it was in defense of her partner, or if it was in defense of an innocent child. She shot another human being. Drabble written after 4x03.</p>
            </blockquote>





	welcome to the inner workings of my mind

**Author's Note:**

> I love Marlo and will fight you on it. My biggest hope is that she doesn't get slapped with the crazy label and get written off after one season.
> 
> Title comes from MSMR's 'Hurricane.' (I might have a slight obsession with this album.)

 

Scalding hot water hits her back, a welcome distraction from the day's events. Reaching for a bottle of body wash, she lets the smell of raspberries soothe her as she pours it into her hand, and for a moment she forgets. Forgets the shame and guilt that rushed in the moment she pulled the trigger. Then the plastic bottle slips, ringing like a shot against the porcelain tub, and the roughly crafted barrier she's created breaks.

She shot someone today. For years she's had to prepare for the day she would have to pull the trigger, but nothing could ever prepare her for the reality of it. It didn't matter if it was in defense of her partner, or if it was in defense of an innocent child. She  _shot_  another human being.

Rinsing off, she tries to block out the image of Wanda hitting the floor but it's all she sees when she closes her eyes. Stepping into Wanda's apartment this afternoon was like going back in time. The constant noise, the shouting neighbors who failed to understand how debilitating a mental illness could be. It made her feel nine years old again (Dad was long gone by then) and facing down the world in defense of her mother.

Mental illness. Besides dark brown eyes and an obsession with 50's bandstand music, it's what she inherited from dear old mom. The "family curse" passed down from mother to daughter.

Trying to shove it down, Marlo continues her routine. She  _has_  to stop dwelling, has to take deep breaths and think about the good in her life. That's what her therapist always suggested when things started to feel too much; when the world felt too big to handle.

So she thinks of the pint of mint chocolate chip in her freezer.

She thinks of her job, which despite its inherent drama and current reason for her mental anguish, is the only time she's ever felt comfortable in her own skin.

_She thinks of Sam._

Stepping out of the shower, she wraps a soft red towel around her body, feels strands of hair on the back of her neck as her sloppy top bun begins to unravel. She makes her way into the bedroom leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake. Checking her cellphone, she notices a missed call from Sam. Affection blazes through her, and for a moment her world is okay. But even so, his voice isn't the one she wants to hear tonight.

After putting on a pair of comfortable pajamas and painstakingly brushing out her hair, taking as much time to postpone, she finally picks up her phone and dials.

"Hello?"

A sleepy voice answers and Marlo takes a deep breath.

"Hi Mom."


End file.
